


All Dust and Shadows

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Stirring of Dust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: A Christmas ficlet written to a prompt from Shooting2kill, for anything to do with the "Third Man".





	

Seven o’clock, and night had fallen heavily on London, shrouded it in shadow, in secrets, in sighs. The _shushing_ of traffic along drizzled roads, the muffled snatches of Christmas carols and jangling pop music, the occasional shout or cry or snap of laughter, it all seemed far away. In the darkness, in a doorway that hugged the shadows to itself, that covered them in the dust of the city and breathed _mine_ , was the only movement that mattered. 

Bodie pressed his face to Doyle’s neck, the denim collar of Doyle’s jacket rough against his cheek, and smelling of damp cotton. He breathed it in anyway, moved his lips over Doyle’s skin, chilled in the night air, kissed warmth onto him. He thought briefly of other doorways, of fur against his cheek, of a softly gasped _liebling_ , but Doyle’s own gasps and rumbles of pleasure dragged him back, held him where he was, pressed into crumbling concrete and cracks of brick, arms full of warmth and life and _now_ instead of _was_ …

 _Alida Valli_ , he thought vaguely, then lost the strange thread in a desperate rush for air as his trousers were undone, as Doyle reached for him, strong hand around his prick, lips on his own. He fumbled with Doyle’s own belt and jeans, shoving fabric down, away, _out_ of the way, of his way… _There_ he thought, feeling heat and hardness and urgency, as if every move he made on Doyle’s skin sent his own blood rushing, filled his balls, his prick, his… his _heart_ even further.

Somewhere far away a siren rose in the December air, slicing its way through the dampness of the night, the Christmas cold, sharp and shrill. Perhaps in other doorways there were deals being done and secrets being sold, but in this doorway, in these shadows, Bodie’s world paused and he gasped, and he came in Doyle’s hand, against Doyle’s skin, with a sigh that met Doyle’s own, and an echo of old memories… _Liverpool for the cup_ , he thought, face stretching into a smile as he let himself close his eyes, lean heavily against Doyle’s shuddering length, _love_.

After a moment he pushed himself away, smiled at Doyle too, and began to get himself sorted out. He watched cheerfully as Doyle finally moved, pulling his jeans up and brushing his be-grimed backside.

 _Dust and shadows_ , Bodie thought, and then he sneezed.


End file.
